On My Sister’s Death

by Eric Chaet

Death took my sister today—
it’s okay, she was suffering, a long time—
she’d become sweet as when she was a girl
before her husband’s death frightened her
& she gave free rein to her ambition
without a clue how to fulfill it—
so she wound up alone in a room, bitter—
in recent decades, her body malfunctioned
more & more episodes, longer lasting
til she gave up on making her way in the world
or being able even to care for herself.

Blow after blow, shedding illusion after illusion—
she dropped her suspicion that my bold differences
with everyone with whom she shared agreement
meant that I thought her a fool—
she thanked me for sharing my time with her
& became honest with me, finally.

Also, she began asking me what I was doing
& took pleasure in my occasional little gains—
well aware of the vast frustrations they were part of
& sensing the equally vast achievement
she was confident they were part of—
whereas I’m all too aware
that they may come to nothing
depending on what I do
& on all sorts of behavior & phenomena
I have no control over—
it was a relief for me to have someone to talk to
who didn’t pretend I’m not doing what I’m doing—
& it’s strange to be in the world
in which she no longer has a stake or interest.